


Reflexive

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Blood, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Scars, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:38:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Inspired by a beautiful piece of art by secretsofcygnus.Sometimes, a touch can catch Loki by surprise - his reaction is only reflexive, and ought not be taken personally.





	Reflexive

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/371415) by Secretsofcygnus. 



> Inspired by [this beautiful art.](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/post/173040160073/frostxmaster-secretsofcygnus-gm-no-harm-in)

“Haha, whaddya say the two of us get out of here?” the Grandmaster’s thumb touches against Loki’s lower lip, unexpected, jarring him out of his thoughts: the scar tissue there, hidden beneath layer after layer of careful enchantment, tingles and smarts with remembered pain, and Loki is barely cognizant of the way he moves. “We can--  _Ow!”_ Loki freezes in his place, his hands flat out in front of him, his wide-eyed stare settled upon the new rip in the Grandmaster’s surprisingly well-toned abdomen.

“I am...  _So_  sorry, I--” Loki can’t conjure up any words, all of his excuses, his apologies, turning to dust in his mouth, and he reaches out with his magic to try to heal the wound, but the Grandmaster grabs tight hold of his shoulder, keeping him still as he draws the dagger out of his belly. 

* * *

 

For the first moment, here on Sakaar, Loki feels the first genuine burst of fear, blooming out of his tangled guts and landing hot on his ashamed skin, making his cheeks flush hot with blood and his mouth go suddenly dry. The Grandmaster’s golden eyes are serious where they land on Loki’s face, and with the other man’s grip so tight upon his shoulder, Loki cannot pull himself away, cannot flee. 

And the Grandmaster  _can_  kill him, Loki is under no illusions about this: and this is the greatest aspersion upon his own character he can possibly cast. He will  _never_ be trusted on this planet now, never, and he is going to be cast into the ether - will the Grandmaster even kill him, he wonders? Or simply set him to be tortured in the depths of this awful planet?

“Okay, uh... What was  _that_?”

“It was reflexive,” Loki whispers. “I didn’t mean to injure you, Grandmaster, sir, I-- I’m not used to having my face touched, and my lips are very sensitive, and I...” Breathing heavily, Loki forces himself to stop speaking, to stop throwing forth such pathetic, desperate excuses.

“Huh,” the Grandmaster murmurs. “Well, no harm done.” Loki looks down to the Grandmaster’s side, where the wound is open and bleeding, and the Grandmaster waves the bloodied dagger around casually. “Don’t worry about it - it seems worse than it is.” With scarcely a thought, the wound is patched up with a white square of thick bandage and some medical tape, and Loki stares down at it. There is no melt stick pressed against Loki’s skin, no guards grabbing at him: when Loki turns to glance around the room, he finds there’s no longer a room to be seen.

“Where are we?” They are standing in an infinite blackness, with nothing to be seen in any direction, and the silence - now that Loki notices it - is eerie compared to the bustle and music of the party they had been at moments ago.

“Oh, this? Pocket dimension,” the Grandmaster says, casually. “I didn’t want my guards to get all, ah,  _handsy_  once they realised you’d stab me. It’d kinda look bad for my, ha, my reputation if my friends are  _stabbing_  me.” His grip upon Loki’s shoulder becomes more gentle, rubbing the flesh. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Loki says immediately. “Not exactly.” The Grandmaster looks him up and down, and Loki is astonished by how strange it feels to be with him and not be mocked, or condescended to - the Grandmaster’s strange humour seems to be lacking, and instead he conducts himself with a seriousness Loki has not known of him before. ( _But then_ , comes the voice in Loki’s head, slick and snake-like, venomous of word,  _you don’t know him at all, do you? It’s only been six days, Loki._ )

“All that, uh,  _magic_ packed onto you. What are you hiding under it?” The Grandmaster taps against his own lips with the flat of the knife, seemingly uncaring of the smear of blood that stains his mouth for but a second before it dissolves from sight. 

“I wouldn’t hide anything from you, Grandmaster, I,” Loki stops. The Grandmaster is looking at him, his lips quirked up into a smile that seems to be the barest stopper on laughter, and he blinks, coquettishly. “I don’t like what I look like, underneath this. I don’t take it off.”

“What don’t you like about it?” the Grandmaster asks, softly. “The blue skin? The, ah,  _horns_? Or is it the scars?” Loki frowns, his hand going up to his mouth, as if to feel for the scars he knows he has hidden away. How can the Grandmaster  _know_  these things about him?

“Telepathy?”

“Call it, ah, good eye for detail. I can see through enchantments pretty easily. Even yours, which are, huh, which are pretty good.” In one second, the other man is standing, and in the next, he is sprawled out on a soft, blue blanket, reclining on a pile of plush cushions. He pats the blanket beside him. “Come down here.” Loki slowly kneels down, lying beside the Grandmaster, feeling the heat that radiates from him, and the Grandmaster curls his hand in Loki’s hair, combing through the dark tresses with a leisurely hand.

“It seems remarkably as if you are not about to murder me.”

“ _Murder_  you?” The Grandmaster laughs, and his laugh echoes strangely in the emptiness of the space they occupy. “Nah. Everyone gets a free pass on the first attempt to kill me. Next time, I might get a little upset, but this time? It’s fine.” The shame, the desperate fear, are both eking their way back, and Loki lets out a slow exhalation as he turns upon his side, looking out into the darkness instead of looking at the Grandmaster’s face.

The other man’s arm curls beneath Loki’s body, pulling him closer, and Loki feels the wonderful column of heat that the Grandmaster is against his side, against his back. 

“It was reflexive,” he says softly, aware that he is repeating himself, but unable to prevent himself from speaking. Is this what Sakaar has made him? Soft, and stupid? “I’m not used to being touched so freely.”

“You don’t like it?” the Grandmaster asks, already moving as if to pull his arm back, but Loki grips his elbow tightly, holding his arm across Loki’s chest. A short pause passes between them. “Okay. Okay, I think I get it. Just, uh, lemme know if you want me to stop next time.  _Verbally_ , if possible.”

“I think I can manage that,” Loki murmurs, his voice full of dark humour, and he feels the Grandmaster’s soft laugh against the back of his head and the nape of his neck, and  _oh_ , oh! How that breath feels, heated, and oh so pleasant where it dances over his hair-- He feels like he is in danger of becoming  _sentimental_ : he must say something to break the train of thought in his head, say something,  _anything..._ “I would, ah, like the dagger back. At some point.”

“ _Golly_ , Loki. Can’t a guy stop bleeding first?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out [my Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com) for more, or if you want to send in a request.


End file.
